Here is the bottom swallowed up by itself Cornered blasphemous horned creatures Something like darkness in the veil of a calf Here are the deficiencies banished to the centre of the market Shivering with happiness Like a caretaker who turns up the gas Here are also the two-faced knitters of words Passive where necessary and furious to accuse someone of not trying hard enough And here are the Gods Those barren lovers of theatre Something like ballet on a swampy carpet Here is the bottom sewn into the grass Squeaking Let the negative remain For posterity Oh yes, so as not to tempt fate in vain